The morning sun rose sluggishly over the Jos Plateau, dragging its light across the red plains like an old man unwilling to wake. A dusty breeze carried the scent of rain that never quite came, brushing against the scattered tents of the excavation camp. Within the site's heart, Chuka crouched over the unearthed relic—the bronze armour, half-cleansed of the centuries of earth that had kept it sleeping.
He wasn't alone. Amara stood beside him, her expression torn between fascination and unease. Behind them, two local assistants muttered quiet prayers, refusing to look directly at the object. The ground itself seemed to hum faintly, as though alive with an unseen presence.
"I still don't understand why the air feels heavy," Amara murmured, clutching her notepad. "It's like it's breathing."
Chuka's voice was low, distracted. "It's not the air. It's resonance. The alloy—it's different. I ran a scan this morning. It's not entirely metallic." He paused, looking at her. "It's organic."
Amara frowned. "Organic? You mean—?"
Before he could answer, a sound cracked across the compound—the sharp whir of rotors approaching. Dust spiraled upward as a black helicopter descended beyond the western ridge. The workers began to scatter, covering their faces. Chuka rose to his feet, heart pounding. He hadn't called for transport.
A voice shouted over the commotion, "Everyone step back from the site!"
The helicopter door swung open and a team of men in dark vests stepped out, their insignias unmarked. They moved with precision, silent and purposeful. The lead officer, a tall man with mirrored sunglasses, strode toward Chuka.
"Dr. Nwankwo?" he asked.
"Yes," Chuka replied cautiously.
"By direct order from the Roman Foundation, we're here to secure the artefact for immediate transfer. All findings are now property of the Foundation."
Amara stiffened. "What? You can't just—"
But Chuka already understood. His gaze drifted to the armour, now glinting in the sunlight like it had been waiting. The inscriptions on its surface seemed to ripple faintly, as if reacting to the disturbance.
He tried to protest, but before the words left his lips, one of the assistants—a quiet man named Kalu—let out a scream. Everyone turned. Kalu had reached too close, brushing his hand across the armour's edge. His eyes went wide, body convulsing as if struck by an invisible force.
"Get him away from it!" Chuka shouted.
They pulled Kalu back, but it was too late—his pupils were dilated, his mouth trembling with incomprehensible words. Between his gasps came a low murmur that didn't belong to any language Chuka recognized. It was as if something ancient was speaking through him.
Amara backed away, horrified. "What's happening to him?"
Chuka knelt beside Kalu, trying to keep his voice steady. "He's... channeling something. The curse—those stories weren't just symbolic."
The lead officer gave a sharp signal. "Seal the relic. Now."
As the soldiers began to lower the containment crate, Chuka's eyes darted to his satchel lying beside the excavation table. Inside it was the one thing he hadn't yet revealed to anyone—the Azu-Obi gem.
A smooth, violet stone he had found near the armour's burial site days before. It pulsed faintly when held near the inscriptions, as if resonating with the same ancient energy.
"Kalu's dying!" Amara cried, snapping him back to the chaos. The assistant writhed in the dust, the veins on his neck glowing faintly with a bronze shimmer—the same hue as the armour itself.
Chuka acted on instinct. He grabbed the gem and sprinted toward the relic, ignoring the shouts from the soldiers. "Don't touch it!" one of them barked, but he didn't stop.
He pressed the gem against the chestplate's surface.
Instantly, the air exploded with light—a surge of invisible force that knocked several men backward. The ground trembled, tents flapping violently as if a storm had materialized from within the earth. Chuka gritted his teeth, holding the gem firmly in place as ancient symbols flared across the armour's body.
Amara shielded her eyes, yelling over the wind, "Chuka, what are you doing?"
"Sealing it!" he shouted back. "The gem was part of the ritual—they used it to bind their gods inside! If we move it without binding, it'll consume anyone who touches it!"
The gem's glow deepened, from violet to a searing white. Then, suddenly, the vibration stopped. The wind died.
The armour went silent.
The soldiers hesitated, their weapons still raised. Kalu lay motionless, his body finally still—but his breathing had returned.
Chuka collapsed to his knees, panting, the gem now dull and cracked in his hand.
Amara rushed to him. "You could've been killed."
He managed a weak smile. "Better me than all of us."
The lead officer approached, his voice uneasy for the first time. "What did you just do?"
"I sealed it," Chuka said quietly. "But not forever. You'll need that gem if you want to move it safely." He glanced down at the fractured stone. "Now it's half-dead. The next person who breaks that seal… might not live to tell the story."
The officer stared at him for a moment, then gave the order to lift the crate. As the helicopter rotors started again, Amara caught Chuka's arm.
"Chief Roman won't stop," she whispered.
Chuka looked toward the horizon, his expression darkening. "Then neither will I."
The helicopter rose into the dusty sky, carrying the sealed armour away—unaware that the gem's cracks still pulsed faintly, as though something inside the relic was awake, watching, waiting.